


Psychotic Mind

by Gem_Gem



Category: Watchmen (Comic)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3957994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a little piece about Rorschach's little screwed up mind. It was fun to write and I do adore the character so much!</p><p>You have to have read the Graphic Novel to really understand, or at least, know who the people are.</p><p>Posted on my DA February 4th, 2010 but written way before then. Any spelling mistakes or grammar errors are my own (I may revisit and correct at a later date).</p></blockquote>





	Psychotic Mind

He stared into the grimy mirror before him. His monotonous, auburn eyes following the spider-web of cracks down the slick surface, before focusing on his reflection. Taking in the sharp features. The horrid, vibrant, red hair. The thin, down-turned mouth. The freckles splattered across clammy, pale skin.

It was the image of a dead man.

A man that was weak. Pathetic. Feeble.

Just a corpse now. No more than a vessel to be used. An empty shell inhabited by a new state of consciousness. A new being brought forth to embody the destabilized form. 

It was stronger. Cleansed. Inoculated against the filth and perversity of the rotten, world surrounding it. Surrounding him.

But memories remained, shoved within hidden corners of the mind. Raising their ugly heads to torment and irritate whenever they pleased. None were pleasant or happy. None existed. Not for him. All were filled with fear, pain and anger. 

Like worms, they burrowed. Moving over one another. Curling and twirling around inside his head until he could take no more.

He snarled in disgust. His lip curling over crooked teeth. One hand lifting to grasp a fist-full of red curls, tugging harshly, hoping the pain would overwhelm him. Tune out the voices of the past.

The screaming. It often consumed him. Caused him to fall in on himself. Pulled into the dead man's ordeals.

Shadows of a shabby man and a negated child clung to him. Slicing into him. Tugging at him. Screaming at him. Scratching and clawing with misery and sorrow at his skull. Eroding his control. 

"No." He rasped. Glaring at the mirror now. "You're dead. You were frail! You quit. Gave up. I am here now! Get out!" His hand yanked with a jerk, a blossom of agony blooming across his scalp. "Get out of my head!!"

He heard the echo of a whore's cries. Saw two bodies writhe into each other behind his eyes. Felt the slap of skin burn his cheek.

"No! You are not part of me! Not part of me! Not anymore!" He howled, slamming his balled up hands into the wall either side of the mirror, rattling it nosily. 

He leant forward to breathe hotly across it. Misting the image in front of him. Hiding the dead behind a wall of white moisture.

He panted heavily through flared nostrils. His eyes fixed on themselves, floating clearly amongst the fog.

"Get. Out." He growled the sound vibrating through his chest as his arms trembled with fury. His muscles tensing. Tendons rising. 

He knew what would happen next. Knew the script. Had played the scene more than a few times already. 

A blur of a woman stood behind him suddenly, but not unsurprisingly, flickering in the reflection. 

Her stout arm lifted. Stained, claw like fingers taking a cigarette from pursed, dry lips. Dark, thick, foul liquid dribbled forth after it. Dripping down her chin and sinking into her nightdress, marking the fabric. Landing in clumps at her bare feet.

"No…leave me. Leave me alone!" He hissed, his eyes screwed shutting tightly until light burst behind the lids. "Not here. Not part of me. Not any more. Not ever. Don't belong! Get out!"

Her lips curved into a sneer. Black teeth allowed to be visible. Eyes, sunken and unblinking, locked onto him blindly as her mouth began to move. Coiling around silent words. Not vocalized. Unheard within air. But echoing inside his head, shrill and robust, if they had been yelled right into his ear.

"No!! No! Not true!" His fists banged the wall once more. Fingers uncurling to drag along the plane. Nails breaking. Blood smearing.

Vile thoughts and emotions rose. Washing over him. Like always. 

Rigid, bony fingers pressed into his head from behind. Twisting their way inside. Pulling at his eye sockets until his head flinched backwards rapidly, his eyelids snapping open. A grunt of misery passing through clenched teeth.

The mirror now revealed a different reflection. A different picture.

A mother. A whore. Stood behind him. Her cold, dead body pressed up against his back. Her blackened lips near his ear and her skelton hand wrapped up in his hair. She whispered diseased words. Covered him sin. Drowned him in filth.

A young woman was at his right. Her clothes torn. Her dark hair mussed, parts bunched and dangling from her scalp. Blood ran in rivers down her bruised and battered face. Her lifeless eyes, pallid and weeping, gazed at him.

In her arms was a child. A girl. She lay limp and unmoving, her head lolling from side to side inertly. Her skin shredded and peeling, fell like pink snowflakes. Limbs sliced but somehow lingering in place, blood escaping. Her clothes burnt and frayed. 

He could smell their rotten flesh. Feel their presence.

He tried to shake his head. His body shuddering. "Stop. Stop it. Leave me alone…leave. Leave. Leave." The hand at his head tightened. The reminiscences pressing against him. Their mouths opening in deafening screams. The smell intensifying. "Leave me..." His left hand twitched and he glowered at himself in the mirror. His features melting into something fierce and dangerous, his eyes blazing. "Leave me alone!" 

With a thunderous roar he slammed his knuckles into the mirror, shattering it into a thousand pieces. Each one flying through the air and dropping with a clatter to the floor. Covering everything in glittering silver. The image broken and dead.

One, long sliver remained hanging on the wall and he watched himself stumble backwards. Back colliding with hard plaster and tiles.

His fist fell at his side. A swell of crimson droplets leaking from split skin and trickling down his fingers to puddle on the floor slowly. Beating loudly against the ground. Collecting within the creases of his palm and fingers.

A single tear trailed down one cheek unnoticed. 

His lungs heaved and juddered painfully as he slid down the wall to sit upon the floor numbly. His knees drawn up to his chest. His arms wilted at his sides. 

He stared vacantly forward. His mind blissfully empty.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little piece about Rorschach's little screwed up mind. It was fun to write and I do adore the character so much!
> 
> You have to have read the Graphic Novel to really understand, or at least, know who the people are.
> 
> Posted on my DA February 4th, 2010 but written way before then. Any spelling mistakes or grammar errors are my own (I may revisit and correct at a later date).


End file.
